As you spend your days,
Contemplate
You must have weighed
the weight of hell
And for the first time felt
A cancerous appendage.
You must be afraid, to throw away
To throw away yourself
With the distant smell
Of rotting friendships
Is it worth it?
Or is it worthless?
Of course, no one could answer this
And even if God did, in fact, exist
He’d leave you answerless
So much for him being majestic
You’re on your own for this
And that feeling in the pit –
Of your stomach...
It couldn’t come at a
more perfect worse time,
couldn’t come at a
more perfect worse time.